Phantom Hunt
by smalld1171
Summary: A hunt, conjured up by a fatigued and wounded mind, leads one brother to the brink and the other to do whatever it takes to bring him back.
1. Chapter 1

**Phantom Hunt**

**A hunt, conjured up by a fatigued and wounded mind, leads one brother to the brink and the other to do whatever it takes to bring him back.**

**_Hello everyone. Seems to me that whenever I am having a bout of 'ickiness' in the real world, the ideas for on-going stories dry up and new story ideas pop out of my brain at an alarming rate. This would be one of those. Not entirely sure if there will be any interest in my babbling so feel free to let me know if I should try and pump out some more chapters or just let it stand as is._**

**_I don't own Supernatural and that's probably a good thing because if I did, there would be nothing but pain and suffering for the boys, every single time._**

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><p>They walk into the building and he reaches into his suit pocket as he watches the approach of his contact, Robert. He glances to the man who walks beside him and there is a flutter in his chest at the realization that there was a time when the two of them would do this dance in tandem, that they would flash their badges and their smiles at the same time, eerily in tune with each other.<p>

But now, as he shakes the hand of the man that stands before them, he can't help the sadness he feels by the almost total lack of response on the part of his brother.

An entire conversation takes place between him and Robert during that handshake, without either of them having to utter a word.

He swallows. This is it. He did it. He managed to get him here. His brother is here, now, and that thought causes a sudden surge of nausea and doubt to float through his gut. He glances to his 'partner' and sighs. Damn it, he wishes his brother would at least call him on it. Wishes that he would question where they are or be able to spot all the holes that litter this paper thin diversion. If he was thinking straight he would have seen it the moment they stepped foot in this place.

Like, for example, since when do federal agents meet witnesses at run down office buildings in the middle of the night?

But, that is part of the reason he has arranged for them to be here to work on this so called case. Because more and more his brother seems to be losing touch with reality and living an entirely different one from within the confines of his own head. His brother is definitely not firing on all cylinders. Not even close.

"Nice to see you again Agent. And this is...?"

The man tries to get his brother's attention but there is no acknowledgement there other than a brief, annoyed glance. Nothing. He looks agitated and put out by having to take time to meet with this guy. It's evident all he wants to do is get back out there, back into the fray of their latest hunt. Of _his_ latest.

Robert tracks his gaze back to him and tries to muster up a reassuring smile. Well, that didn't work too well, he feels anything but reassured about what he is doing here, about what he is about to do.

He turns to face his brother. Kind of hard not to notice the way his fists clench or the way his breaths come out rapid and unsettled. He's like a powder keg just itching for someone to throw it a match. It's like he is there but not; his physical presence is in the same room with them but the part that contains who he is has left the building to float around somewhere in a world that only he can see.

He reaches out to grab a fidgeting shoulder and looks its owner in the eye. He whispers, keeping the guise of their mission intact.

"You need to chill dude. How 'bout you take a look around while I talk to Robert here and figure out our next move?"

A curt nod and a mumble about how they need to hurry and his brother is off to check the perimeter of the building, gun at the ready.

They speak in low and hushed tones, each one following the erratic movements of the man that scopes out everything yet seems totally oblivious to the eyes that watch his every move.

Their conversation ends and he reaches out to shake the man's hand once more.

"Thanks again Robert, for everything. I just... I hope they can help."

"I'll let them know you're on your way. They will do everything they can, your brother is not the first hunter they've seen. Good luck."

He nods and their 'contact' shuffles off into the shadows.

He approaches his brother, who seems to be staring intently at one section of the wall. "Okay, let's go."

There is a flinch and a waver as the caffeine shakes seem to seize him and the ever present aura of fatigue oozes outward from every pore.

"Wait, do you see that? Could that have something to do with it?"

His eyes scan the spot his brother points out and he allows a small sigh to escape him.

"I don't see anything man."

He watches him crouch closer to the surface of the wall and shake his head.

"Huh, I guess I... whatever, let's get going, gotta stop this before it happens again."

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><p>They move their way through the main corridor and find themselves stepping into the elevator. A tentative finger presses the 'B' and the brothers begin their descent.<p>

Okay, he's definitely not with the program otherwise his brother would have caught wind of this odd little detour way before now. And, by the looks of things, he still doesn't have a clue. That could work in his favour, or make this whole thing that much worse.

He tries to tame his own growing agitation and nervousness as the bell dings and they exit the elevator to make their way down the dimly lit hallway. His eyes seek out their destination and he stops at the one that has a very unofficial sign hanging from a stupid nail. He silently begs his brother to make some kind of smartass comment about the shoddy workmanship but of course is met by nothing but the sound of his brother's constant gusts of air.

He takes a deep breath and turns the knob. Showtime. He enters the room, his brother at his heels.

It looks like any other office. Well, any other office that just happens to be holed up in the basement of some random building in the middle of nowhere. Amazing the kind of places the hunter network has managed to keep hidden below the radar of the normal world.

"Can I help you?"

He clears his throat and approaches the forty-something woman sitting behind the desk. She smiles sweetly at him and he realizes he almost forgot that she, along with everyone else with the exception of his brother, are well aware of what this is really all about and why they are actually here.

"Um, yes. Hi, we're here to see Dr. Smith. Agents Riggs", he shows his badge and hates that he has to nudge his brother for him to show his own ID, "and Martin."

She glances at their badges, then at him, and finally at the man who seems more interested in the wallpaper than giving her the time of day. He sees a look of sadness filter across her features and thinks she's going to cave and give herself or him away, but a glance to his right tells him a swarm of locusts could appear out of thin air and his brother wouldn't even bat an eyelash.

"Yes, of course. Have a seat Agents, I'll let him know you've arrived."

"Thank you."

He leads his brother away from the desk towards the chairs against the wall.

"C'mon, let's sit down before you fall on your face. When's the last time you ate something?"

"Bite me."

"That's what I thought."

She knocks on the door across from them and whisks herself inside.

His brother is suddenly all business then, now that they're alone.

"Okay, so what's the deal? This some kind of quack doctor or something? Wait, forget it, doesn't matter."

His brother is up on his feet again, pacing, always with the pacing. He's wringing his hands and then stops suddenly to stare at the door like he's just suffered a short circuit. But, just like magic, his switch turns itself on again and he revs back up into high gear. He paces. He fidgets. He huffs out breath after breath. And he points to the door.

"So, he have some intel on whatever it is we're hunting? Which, um... I haven't quite figured out yet. I know, maybe he knows about the missing women? No, wait."

He stops to lean on the desk and run a hand over his ragged face.

"Or was it... men? Ah hell, whatever, that's not important. Bottom line, people are disappearing and we need to figure this shit out before more vanish. But man, it's the damndest thing, always one step ahead of us. We've never hit so many brick walls before. It's like all of a sudden it just doesn't exist, like it goes poof and disappears into thin air. No trace of the fugly anywhere. It's... it's just weird dude."

Weird. Yeah, he'd have to agree on that one. Right. The missing persons. The _imaginary_ missing persons. Damn, now _he_ is staring at the door, willing it to open because if this continues much longer he is going to snap and blurt out that he has gone through this exact same thing with him two other times. A hunt where there is none. Following him from town to town searching for phantoms that don't exist.

Eyes look to him. Sunken, hollow, skittering on the edge of madness eyes. Any trepidation he had about this little charade is removed immediately as he stares at the strung out shell of a man masquerading around in his brother's skin. He fights to urge to grab him by the shoulders and shake him until his brain clicks back into place.

Sure, he'll be pissed off. Sure, he'll fight and kick and yell and probably disown him, but if they can break through whatever the hell has manifested itself into his mind then he'll take all that and a hell of a lot more.

Footsteps, followed by a nudge and a questioning eyebrow bring him back from his musings. Right, still waiting for an answer.

"I'm not sure. He might, it's the only lead I've managed to find. Just, you need to follow my lead on this."

The door opens and both their faces turn to the sound.

"The doctor will see you now."

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><p><em><strong>So? What do you think? Good? Bad? Ugly? I'd love to hear your thoughts. I may also change the title at some point, not really happy with it. Anyhoo, thanks for stopping by!<strong>_


	2. Chapter 2

_Hi there. Welcome back. Thanks to everyone for your lovely comments on the first chapter, I hope this one does not disappoint._

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><p>"S'about time."<p>

He grabs hold of his brother's arm as he makes a beeline for the office door. Irritation makes itself known and maybe even a growl can be heard rumble up through his brother's throat as eyes stare down at the offending limb; the one that has stopped his progression to whatever he thinks he'll find behind door number one.

"What?"

"Remember man. Follow. My. Lead. Just chill out, you are all over the place bro."

He can almost feel the anger fly out and slap him across the face as his brother twists out of his grip and stares at him with the most focus he has seen in those eyes for weeks.

"I'm fine _Agent_.. and I'll follow your lead, unless you don't get anywhere, then the show is all mine. We don't have time to waste being all sympathetic or caring or acting like you give a shit about anything other than information. Lives are at stake here… it's just a matter of time before another person gets taken away…"

He feels a tug on his arm and sees a quick, wild-eyed glance around the room from his sibling. Gone is the spark of lucidity he just saw in that gaze. His brother leans in close and increases the pressure, his fingers digging into the flesh beneath his shirt. He listens as he speaks, his voice low, the words ground out and filled with such contempt that it makes his skin crawl.

"… and I will be damned if I'm gonna be responsible for any more death."

The woman flutters past them, obviously tuned in to the tension that oozes outwards from the cocoon the brothers are encased in, the one that is riddled full with the stuff. The defensive stance his brother has adopted makes him sigh.

On the defensive. Story of his brother's life.

He almost cuts to the chase right then and there as they teeter and glare at each other in some kind of standoff that he doesn't even understand. That last statement describes what has happened to a tea; describes perfectly the catalyst for the state of mind his brother is in right now.

It wasn't the death of anyone they knew that has thrown him off kilter and has caused him to start to implode on himself. It was a stranger. Someone they didn't know yet of course one whose demise his brother equated to him not being fast enough or strong enough to save. That someone bit it just as they threw the match on the bones, just seconds before that vengeful spirit was burned out of existence, his death being the last one to be added to its morbid resume.

He remembers the look on his face, the sag in his shoulders and the defeated sigh as he gathered up their bags and walked away without a word.

He knows now that was the moment that it began; the moment his brother's precarious hold on sanity began to slip; the moment his wall formed its first splinter. It was in that moment the floodgates opened to release torrent after torrent, the force of it pulling him under and making him flounder from the onslaught.

He flinches at the renewed tightness on his arm from the man who still clutches him, as he seems to unconsciously reach out to the only other person on the planet who knows the level of his pain and what this shit life is all about.

He knows what he has to do, it's the same thing his brother has done for him time and time again. He will be his lifeline, without question. He will be his anchor in the swirling sea that has consumed him. He will be there in whatever way he can until his brother can rise up from the deluge he is drowning in to breach the surface and finally breathe.

This is his time and his moment. This time _he_ will be the one to save his brother.

"We going or what?"

He nods and walks slowly to the door, events of the last few weeks tumbling around in his head.

People aren't and weren't disappearing. Well, not at an alarming, unnatural rate anyways. He followed his brother blindly when he said he caught wind of the first set of missing persons, his brother always in tune with things that don't quite add up. But, as time went on and they couldn't find anything out of the ordinary, he conducted his own research and his heart sank as he realized there was no pattern, no event, no person to string the missing together.

Nothing in that town or in the next had one thing to do with the supernatural.

He watched his brother then, noticed the lack of food and sleep; the drinking and the coffee; the ramblings and the nightmares. It wasn't until one night when he heard his brother talking through the bathroom door that he fully understood the problem was much more serious than he realized.

He closes his eyes for a moment as the memories flood in.

He stood there, outside the door and listened to his brother's voice. He remembers the chill that ran through him as he realized what his brother was doing.

He was trying to find him. He heard him leave a frantic message for him to call him back. Dad.

And it went on. More and more calls; more and more messages left for people who could never return them.

But the clincher was when he heard his own name filter out from his brother's lips and it made his heart stop cold.

He banged on the door and was just about to kick the damn thing in when his brother stepped through, a sarcastic remark sent his way as he did. Sure, he had asked him about it, confronted and grilled him with what he heard but the look that had shone through from his brother's features told him loud and clear that he didn't know what the hell he was talking about. His brother is the master of the mask, but he can usually detect at least a glimmer of bullshit when he is hiding something. It freaked him out that there was nothing but a look of confusion written on his face.

It hit him hard, the realization that he honestly didn't remember making a bunch of calls to a bunch of dead people just minutes before. He found that he himself was now in the middle of his own inquisition, being poked and prodded as the focus shifted onto him and how _he_ was because his brother was adamant that he must have a concussion or a fever that was making him hear things.

His brother took care of him as always does, all the while with no idea he was the one who was in need of help.

He had looked into his brother's eyes and found the end result of a lifetime of denial and anger and pain staring him straight in the face. All the people in their life have slowly been whittled away, and his brother hasn't come to terms with it, hasn't dealt with it, or maybe he can't. Hell, he won't even talk about it, or them. And this is where it has left him; flying off the rails of the real world to traipse along in whatever loop de loop his brain has decided to take him on.

He sighs with purpose and determination. Alright, he can do this. He _will_ do this. For him.

"Let's go."

They head for the office and he spares a glance back at the woman as she heads to the door at the hallway, pulling it shut and locking it with a key.

That one simple act makes him shiver. This escapade is going to be very, very bad for his health.

They walk through the doorway and his brother is on high alert, just like he was on the main floor, scanning each corner of the room before even acknowledging or actually noticing the third man's presence. There is a soft click as the door is closed and he whips around so fast that he almost loses his balance. If he was more alert he's sure his brother would have heard the turn of another key.

He swallows. Okay, they are now officially locked in.

His arm juts out to steady his brother's frame and this time he receives no response from his sibling. He is lost once again in whatever hunt his mind is absorbed in.

His eyes move from his brother to track towards the man, the doctor who they have come to see and watches a small smile form on his face, as the man readies himself to greet his visitors.

"Agents. I'm Dr. Smith, nice to meet both of you, although I wish it was under different circumstances. Please, have a seat. I'm not I can help but I will do whatever I can."

"My partner and I are in town investigating some disappearances."

"Disappearances? Really?"

They go through the motions in hopes that the other sibling will join in the conversation but their ramblings soon taper off to nothingness, the need for formalities not required when the man they are putting the act on for is somewhere else entirely.

The doctor now stares at his brother who is busily inspecting the wall beside the bookshelf that takes up most of it.

He stays where he is, silently waiting out the doctor and ready to follow whatever his next move is going to be.

The doctor stands up and slowly manoeuvres his way from behind his desk until he stands mere feet away from his brother and observes his fixation of the office's decor.

He follows Dr. Smith's gaze as it travels down every part of his brother. The man's eyes soak in the appearance of his profile, the gaunt and paleness that has turned his complexion into a sickly grey colour; the constant clenching of his hands and how he wipes away the sweat that covers them against the fabric of his suit; the rapid rise and fall of his chest, like he's been running a marathon even though he hasn't taken one step.

Both men step back as he quickly moves on to the next wall, beside the door, and traces his fingers along a crack that has formed within it.

Cracked, that seems to be an understatement.

The doctor leans forward, edging ever closer until he is standing directly beside him.

"Agent? Are you alright, you don't look well."

He stares at the scene before him, a sigh exiting from his lips when there is no response. The doctor turns to him and all he can do is shrug, he has no idea what his brother thinks he sees there, hidden among the crumbling plaster. Smith reaches a slow and sure hand towards the fixated man until his fingers gently touch his forearm.

There is a flinch, a low rumble of sound and a flurry of movement so lightning quick that before either of the other men can blink, the doctor's hand is grabbed and twisted painfully around his back and he is slammed into and pinned against the same wall that just moments before had all of his brother's undivided attention.

He can't make out the words that are uttered but the tone of the voice is crystal clear. He's not sure which one his brother sees; angel, demon or monster, but he _is_ sure it isn't the doctor he thinks he's got shoved up against that wall.

He walks forward, his arms reached outward in a placating gesture, sickened by the churning in his gut at the way he doesn't have a clue what his brother is going to do next.

And that scares the hell out of him.

He can hear the doctor's breath, fast and ragged from the death grip he is currently contorted in and he knows his brother is perfectly capable of killing him, weakened state or not.

He stands beside him, his brother's face flush with rage and his body wracked by shakes as he uses up precious power from his body's reserves just to hold the man in place.

He speaks soft and slow, just inches away from his ear.

"Agent Martin? Dr. Smith just asked if you were okay, that's all. You can let him go."

A couple of rapid blinks later and the arm is released and his brother steps back. He shakes his head and looks around the room again, like he is seeing it for the first time since they arrived. His gaze settles on the doctor before it tracks to him and he tries to cover up his faux pas with a dazzling smile, only to have it come across as a toothy grimace.

"Uh, sorry doc, just startled me. Give a guy some warning next time. Are you okay?"

The doctor steps away from the wall and stretches his shoulder back and forth before sending a smile his brother's way.

"No worse for wear."

"Good. Okay then, let's get on with it. What do you know about the disappearances?"

"What were you looking for on my wall?"

He didn't think it was possible but his brother actually loses whatever bit of colour that remained on his face and looks down to the floor, shaking his head.

"Nothin'. Nothing's there… can't find it…"

His gaze drifts up again, his eyes looking to the wall as if to confirm again that it indeed doesn't hold some kind of clue, or hint, or sign for him.

"Did _you_ see something there? What were you looking for?"

"Um… no. It's cool. It's good. Just admiring the paint job doc. So, what you got for us?"

"Well, I was just telling your partner here I'm not sure what disappearances you are referring to..."

Dr. Smith grabs his sibling's elbow loosely and starts to lead him across the room to the couch on the other side.

"...Agent Riggs didn't seem to have a lot of details on the matter..."

He follows the pair, his eyes keeping close watch on his brother's reactions as the duo stops at the edge of the couch.

"...but he told me you did most of the legwork on this case."

The doctor lets go and sits on a recliner across from the sofa. He gestures with his hand to indicate he should sit down. He doesn't budge.

"I think we should all take a seat and you and your partner can fill me in on what you've found out so far. I promise I will do whatever I can to help solve what is going on."

He can read between the lines of that statement and takes that as his cue to join the other men. It isn't until he actually sits down himself that his brother acquiesces and follows suit.

"Good. So, Agent Martin? Let's start with you alright?"

"Yeah, okay."

"And Agent Riggs?"

He looks up and stares into the unwavering, intense gaze of Dr. Smith.

"Yes?"

"Are you ready for this?"

His stomach drops and he feels sick at the implication of that question. I guess this guy doesn't beat around the bush. Not only that but now his brother is staring at him with another look of confusion and all he wants to do is run out of here as fast as he can. But he can't. And he won't. This needs to be done but that doesn't make the thought of what's about to happen any easier. He swallows and matches the doctor's gaze.

"As I'll ever be."

The doctor nods before his focus shifts to land on his brother again. He can see the man take a deep breath before he starts, and it sends another wave of butterflies to be unleashed through his gut.

"Great. Okay, now I need you to think carefully about this first question."

There is a pause then, and he takes the short reprieve to breathe deeply and focus on his brother. He stares at his profile and can see the question mark imprinted on his face.

"I'm listening. What's up doc?"

He listens to his brother chuckle at his own comment and dreads with his entire being how suddenly that laughter is about to be erased.

"What do you remember about your last hunt, Dean?"

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><p><em>TBC...<em>


	3. Chapter 3

_Hello all and welcome back for chapter 3! A huge thank you to all who are following along and for all those lovely, lovely comments! Appreciate it? HELL YEAH! I hope you will enjoy and thanks again._

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><p>"What do you remember about your last hunt, Dean?"<p>

Cliché after cliché bounces around in his head as he exhales sharply, the echo of the doctor's words rattling around in his stressed out head.

Their cover is blown. The gig is up. The plot thickens. The cat is out of the bag.

With those few words, just like that the premise of their presence in that room has been shattered into pieces.

He swallows as he readies himself for the fight that will inevitably come. The thought that all the planning and deception it took to get his brother here in the first place is now in real jeopardy of exploding in his face makes him question again if this was the right move.

He readies himself for or a screaming match, or a furious punch or two aimed at his head, so to say it unnerves him when none of those things come to pass would be the ultimate in the realm of understatements.

He turns to look at his brother, his eerily calm and surprisingly unmoving brother, before he tracks his gaze to the doctor. He figures it's like looking in a mirror as the man across from them wears the look of surprise that he is certain he has on his own face.

Smith leans in a bit further and stops just short of actually placing a hand on Dean's arm.

"Touch me and I'll break your damn hand."

The words are spoken through gritted teeth and by instinct the doctor recoils as his brain registers the truth behind the threat. He passes a brief look towards the younger sibling before all eyes are back on the eldest, whose pale features now seem to be rapidly adopting an even more ominous shade of red.

Okay then. Guess the cat _is_ out of the bag.

The doctor settles back into his chair. "Fair enough."

This is so beyond normal there isn't even a term for it. His brother hasn't budged; hasn't moved or even twitched. His eyes are planted on the doctor yet who knows if he really sees him there. As he continues to watch, Dean's eyes once again begin to roam around the room that they currently occupy.

Damn it. Big brother is starting to zone out again.

"Dean?"

A slight tilt of his head indicates at least he has heard him, but the clenching of his jaw also sends the signal that he is mighty pissed.

"Agent Riggs?" He sinks a bit into the material of the couch as Dean's gaze bores into his. "Or, I guess I should just call you Sam huh…" He motions to the three of them with a loose arm. "…seeing as we're all on a first name basis here. Well…" His gaze hovers on Smith "...almost."

"John. The name's John."

It's not an amused chuckle that flies out of him this time but more like something between a snarl and a sob.

"J… John?"

To the casual observer it probably would have seemed to be asked in a normal tone. But he knows his brother and can see the pain light up briefly as he utters out the name of the doctor, and of their father. But, as always, the flicker is gone almost before it existed and the mask is firmly attached once more.

"Seriously? John Smith? Wow, that's real original. Just hang tight there for a minute John alright? Don't move."

Dean leans over until his mouth hovers right against his brother's ear. He can feel the heat as it radiates from his skin to warm his own. He can hear the ever present tremble in his voice, the vibration of it echoing against his neck.

The voice is low and ragged.

"What did you tell this quack, huh? How could you be so… what if he's one of the bad guys? You're smarter than this… didn't dad… didn't _I_ teach you better? You can't… I… what if he... what if you… Sam, what if…."

His breathing has changed, it's urgent and unfettered now, like a flow of lava simmering just below the surface, the temperature rising steadily as the volcano threatens to blow.

"I know you are a hunter Dean."

He feels his brother's hand on his wrist and looks down, Dean's knuckles whitening under the strain.

"Dean? Can you look at me? Are you okay?"

Wow. Stupidest question ever doc.

His brother's breathing seems to stop altogether now, the urgency and waver erased by the unwelcome presence of the doctor's voice. Dean's head turns and he fires volley after volley of daggers outward from his seething eyes.

"Oh yeah, freakin' peachy. Just need a minute with Agent Riggs here. I'm sure you understand? The _case_ and all?" Eyes back to him. He's pulled up roughly by his brother's grip and is left to watch him stalk away to the furthest corner of the room. Even at a distant he can see the fire blaze within his eyes.

He stands there in limbo until Dean's voice bellows out across the room.

"Over here. Now!"

"Everything okay Sam?"

He wants to punch the doctor in the face in that moment. Is everything okay? Unbelievable. He sends a frustrated and 'are you kidding me' look in his direction.

"Hey! Doc? Everything is just great!"

Perfect. Enter wound up Dean, practically frothing at the mouth.

"Just kind of a shock you know? That good old Sammy would feel the need to divulge personal, private, _hunter_ stuff to some down on his luck doctor, with a piss poor alias, who hides out in a creepy little office in the bottom of some rotted out building! Sam! Get over here!"

The outburst gets him moving again and when he stops, he stands directly in the path of his brother's irrational rage. Not a nice place to be.

Dean is almost teetering now from the surge of adrenaline that must be busy circulating through his weakened body. Even so, it's uncanny how dangerous he can make himself seem. It has always amazed him, how his brother can seemingly give equal attention to two entirely different things at once. Like right now. He has a hairy eyeball placed directly on him, but the other seems to track and keep tabs on the doctor, who has wisely decided to stay put in his seat.

"Did you ever stop to think that maybe he's…" Nod in Smith's direction. "… in on it? Huh? You 'outed' us bro and if he's one of them then you are gonna get yourself, or me, or yourself… killed! No more death Sammy! Jesus, it's just too much! No more… gotta stop it… no more… "

Damn it. Dean's heading into no man's land again so he raises his hands and places them on his agitated brother's shoulders. He usually knows exactly what to say, what to do to try and calm his older brother's nerves, but now he feels unsure and out of his element. How does he proceed when he himself knows full well that the doctor is not one of _'them'_ because _they_ don't exist?

"In on _what_ exactly Dean?"

A gust of air accompanies the movement as his hands are shrugged off and he now finds the tables turned where he is the one up against the wall. No biggie right? All he has to do to get out of this particular scene is somehow get away from his volatile brother who has cornered him. Shit.

"You _know_ what Sam! Why the hell are you talking to me like I'm freakin' nuts or something? The hunt, remember? The disappearances? Any of this ringing a bell?"

He breathes in deep as he sees the slightest flicker cross his brother's face. Sure, he may be grasping at the proverbial straw, and he may have just imagined it, but it sure the hell looked like Dean just had a momentary lapse, where he questioned his own statement.

Here goes.

"No Dean."

"Excuse me?" The breathing ramps up again and his brother is so close to his face now that he can smell the stale alcohol and coffee on his breath. He stares into Dean's eyes, hoping that he can break through and talk him off of the ledge he's been standing on for weeks.

"There isn't anything supernatural about those disappearances Dean. I think…" Deep breath in, deep breath out. "I think you are seeing a hunt where there isn't one."

Hurt. Confusion. Betrayal. Dean's eyes say all of those emotions and more as he absorbs the words his brother just uttered.

There is movement in the periphery of his vision as the doctor slowly rises from his chair to make his way towards the desk.

Crap.

Now he wants to punch _himself_ in the head. He is so damn stupid. Why didn't he keep his eyeballs totally and completely on Dean? Shit. Dean, he saw it. He honed right into it, saw the ever so slight variation in the focus of his eyes, and the hell if they didn't just betray him entirely.

Dean reaches for the gun hidden in his waistband and has it held tightly in his grip, the barrel pointed squarely at Smith within seconds.

The fluidity of his movements in any other situation would be a thing of beauty.

"Don't you fricken move, _doc_."

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><p><em>TBC... Thanks for having a look. :)<em>


	4. Chapter 4

**Hello everyone! I apologize for how long this chapter has taken, life has been a rollercoaster this last little while and has not offered much to me in the way of inspiration to pump out more chapters. I'm not sure if I am very satisfied with this but to be honest I just couldn't look at it any longer ;) I hope that any who have stuck with me this far will find some enjoyment in it. Thank you for your support, I hope that you will hang around for more. :)**

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><p><em>"Don't fricken move doc."<em>

He can see Smith flinch in surprise as he turns to face the brothers, the look of shock written on the man's face having the same quality as the proverbial deer caught in the headlights moments before the crushing and violent impact.

The way his body stops all movement, frozen to the spot with even his arm caught in mid-reach for something on his desk tells him the good doctor has been caught completely off guard. He hadn't taken into consideration the fact that Dean's hunter instincts are always at play, tuned in and tuned on, especially when he senses or perceives a threat in his midst, or in his brother's, despite how on the verge of collapse he may seem.

"Sure, I'll be the first to admit it, I'm just itching to kill something. So, I dare you _John_, twitch one little muscle, come on. Make. My. Day."

If you didn't know Dean Winchester, you would hear nothing but a tangible threat, currently punctuated by the deadly exclamation point he holds in his hand. You would hear a tone that is defiant and unwavering, a low rumble that has stopped ghost, demon, and human alike in their tracks if only for a moment, as the venom in his words filter through.

But he _does_ know Dean, better than any other person possibly could, and so he has the advantage of being able to peel away the layers; to sift through the bravado and contempt, the hatred and intimidation woven within the inflection in his hard spoken words, to get to the meat; to the tender pieces underneath. To him, his brother's voice isn't strong and steady or sure, but rather mingled with fatigue, confusion and uncertainty.

That's what comes from years of studying your brother, of learning the signs and signals that to anyone else, including Doctor Smith, are too subtle to even register. Smith on the other hand, who still looks like a statue made of flesh; who hasn't so much as twitched since facing the barrel of his patient's gun, only knows _of_ Dean Winchester. The doctor's doubt is etched in the features of his face, as the threat that lingers in the air starts to slither along the floorboards like a snake waiting for its prey to make its one fatal mistake, before it strikes out to inflict the killer blow.

He sighs as he rubs a weary hand down his face. Why do people always underestimate his brother? He didn't sugar coat anything in the details about Dean, he had laid it all out on the table and warned them; even pretty sure he used a phrase like 'powder keg just waiting for a light'. And right now it seems the unsuspecting doctor has just struck the damn match.

So, Dr. Smith, the subject of today's class is Dean Winchester, and your lesson has just begun.

Despite whatever is happening inside him, no matter what internal battle he is waging within his body and mind, Dean will never willingly show weakness, reverting to his patented defense modes of defiance and rage. He can see both of those begin to shine through, oozing and seeping out of the older hunter like trickles of water that have found that one small crack in the dam, keeping the torrent only barely contained. Unless this showdown is diffused quickly, it's only a matter of time before it breaks wide open and carnage is unleashed on whoever dares stand in its path.

He watches the doctor flick his gaze from Dean's steely features to the gun and back again before he taps his foot restlessly on the ground to gain the doctor's attention. Slowly and carefully those wide eyes break from the threat that stands before him to stare into his instead.

He meets Smith's eyes and nods curtly, an unspoken acknowledgment that he had taken care of this possible scenario long before the duo walked through his door. Another sigh escapes him as yet another indicator of Dean's lack of clarity hits him full force. His brother doesn't even realize that he holds nothing more than a useless ornament in his tenuous grasp.

With his newly acquired knowledge, the doctor's stance and demeanour change, the terror that had shone in his eyes fades to be replaced by a new surge of confidence, no longer kept back by the fear that any movement on his part would relieve his head from its body.

"Look Dean, I was just getting something off my desk. That's all." Smith's eyes keep locked on the older Winchester as his hand becomes reanimated and reaches for a folder on the surface, conscious of the fact that the barrel of the weapon follows his every move. He holds it up in the air like it's some kind of trophy, allowing each brother to see that it is indeed just a document. "See, just a file." A reserved chuckle makes its way through his pursed lips. "Nothing to warrant getting shot over, I assure you."

His brother's head tilts to the side, as if trying to process what it is that he's looking at and gauging whether this is some kind of trick.

"F..file?"

Dean takes one step forward, his arm drifting slightly downward as his entire body seems to waver, the rush of adrenaline that pulsed through his veins leaving the party in haste, draining him of whatever energy it had managed to instil within his frame.

He approaches to stand by Dean's side and bears witness to a litany of emotions as they flutter through the green of his eyes. Dean's brow crinkles and he drifts his gaze to his weapon wielding hand, the stab of insecurity at his actions furrowing into the lines of his face. He readjusts the grip on his gun as his hand starts to shake and the weapon suddenly appears to weigh a tonne in his grasp.

He reaches out to place a light touch on his shoulder and speaks slow and soft towards the side of his brother's face. "Dean, you can put the gun down, you don't need it. I know right now this may seem hard for you to believe, but Dr. Smith is here to help."

There is indecision, mistrust and accusations swirling around in the eyes that turn briefly to meet his own, before they focus once again on the doctor who has now moved closer to the brothers, file in hand.

Smith clears his throat, opens up the folder and scans the page before lifting his gaze to lock onto Dean's.

"Dean Winchester. Date of birth January 24th, 1979. Born in Lawrence, Kansas..."

Dean screws his eyes shut and jams the heel of his left hand in his face, a grunt and gust of air launching from his throat.

"… the first child of John and Mary Winchester…"

He watches in curiosity as his brother's body seems to relax, his head lifting to stare at the doctor with a weird sense of calm; the actions doing nothing to ease the rising trepidation he feels inch along his spine. It's like Dean has been caught in a riveting episode of 'This Is Your Life', and he can't seem to turn away from the spectacle.

He takes advantage and opportunity of the moment to gently loosen and extract Dean's grip on the gun and lower his arm to his side, surprised when his brother offers no reaction or resistance, at all. His brother is glued to the doctor's face and to the file in his hands, seeming to be patiently waiting to hear the next chapter of the story; of _his_ story.

"…both deceased…"

It's like he's been hit by a bolt of lightning, the shudder that rips through Dean's frame as those two words break the confines of Smith's mouth and slam into him effectively snapping him out of his trance and reigniting the storm forever brewing beneath the surface. He doesn't even notice when it happens; only a slight breeze flutters across his skin as Dean reclaims the gun and surges forward, a growl thundering past his lips and the barrel focused on the invisible bulls eye that seems to be painted right onto the doctor's forehead.

"SHUT YOUR DAMN MOUTH! So help me, you say one more word and you're dead. And trust me doc, that ain't no threat. That is a damn promise!"

He walks closer into the confrontation zone and feels slightly impressed that Smith is holding his own against the distressed hunter on the verge of ripping him a new one. Dean's agitation is apparent now, his body quaking where he stands, the rage taking over every fibre of his being.

"Dean, come on bro, take it easy. Just…"

He stops as Dean presses the metal into the doctor's face, the idea that he is out of control enough to contemplate killing a human icing the blood in his veins. His brother doesn't turn but he can hear the darkness and disappointment in his voice.

"Shut up Sam. What the hell is wrong with you? Don't you care that this ass has information on me? An entire freakin' file? How about the fact he knows about mom? Doesn't that seem messed up to you?"

A chill runs through him again, the obvious omission of their dad in that statement reminding him of how unstable Dean must be; knowing that anyone who ever said anything derogatory or what Dean perceived to be untrue about John Winchester was lucky to get out alive.

Dean doesn't wait for an answer from him but focuses intently back to Smith. "Have you been keeping tabs on me John? My life? Huh, well I guess that figures, you do strike me as the weasly type."

"Sam cares Dean. So do I. We want to help you. It's time to stop fighting, to stop running and face what's happened, before it destroys you. You need to let go of the guilt you carry for all those who have been taken from you..."

"I... SAID... SHUT YOU HOLE!"

The doctor takes a breath and stares right into the furious eyes of Dean, now only an inch away from his own.

"…starting with your father."

The echo of the initial sound makes all three of them flinch. It takes him and the man who is the current focus of Dean's anger one more click to realize where the noise is emanating from. The gun held firmly in the hunter's hand is being fired; Dean's finger presses down over and over against the trigger, each time reverberating a hollow pop into the doctor's head.

He can't help but think that his brother would have killed him, in cold blood, without so much as a hesitation. He is rooted to the spot, sure that the magnitude of what he just witnessed slowly working itself into the expression on his face.

When the clicking finally stops and Dean stands motionless, the eerie quiet that descends upon the trio is broken only by the intermittent sound of rushed breathing.

When his brother starts to move again, he watches in fascination at the way in which he calmly unloads the gun and checks the clip before snapping it back into place and bringing it to point to the floor, shaking his head slowly as he does. The thud of the weapon as it hits the ground ripples through the walls of the office and the way Dean's back tenses and how he rolls his head tells him everything up to now has been the warm up act.

The last straw has just been broken, and he and the doctor are about to get a front row seat to what happens when Dean really starts to lose his cool.

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><p><strong>TBC... Thanks for stopping by!<strong>


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